


It's Hot and I Hate You

by Jael_Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael_Lyn/pseuds/Jael_Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a summer day in Cascade, and Blair's not a happy camper.  </p>
<p>Originally posted at Idol Pursuits.  You'll probably be able to tell it was written before the economy melted and the US had a budget surplus.  Hah.  Those days are a dim memory now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Hot and I Hate You

 

Long day. Correction - long, hot day. Doesn't happen very often in Cascade, but once or twice a summer, it gets hot enough to melt the asphalt. After months of half rain, half sun, temperature never above seventy, Mother Nature slaps this little joke on us.

It makes Sandburg crazy.

It's a huge contradiction, but Mr. Cold-And-Wet-Is-My-World likes heat in continuous doses. A vacation baking on a sandy, treeless beach, he's a happy man. Put him in the steady sauna of the jungle and he's ready to set up housekeeping. One-day sneak attacks of heat in Cascade and he's a lunatic in search of the asylum. It is not pretty. To make matters worse, when it gets like this, the air conditioning at the PD doesn't really keep up. I sent him home before quitting time just to get some peace.

I pulled the truck into the lot next to the Volvo. Initially, a good sign. No Sandburg disasters en-route. Far above me, I could see the sliding doors were open, so at least the loft was airing out. If the air conditioning at the PD is inadequate, mine is worse - it doesn't exist. Open the windows and we get a nice breeze off the bay. I should clarify - I think it's a nice breeze. Sandburg believes it's the demon wind straight off the Sahara. Still, the open windows were another good sign. He'd made it from the parking lot to the loft. The elevator was working, so my temperature-challenged partner hadn't needed to hike up three flights. I thought things were looking pretty optimistic until I got to the front door. Thank God for Sentinel hearing.

"I hate you, Jim. I really hate you."

Swish. Shuffle. 

"Oh, man, there is no justice! I hope the truck dies. I hope there's mold in your Tupperware. I hope - I hope Simon sends you to a seminar."

Swish. Shuffle. Rip.

"No. No, this is not happening. I called these idiots twice. Jim, I can just see the look on your face! If you so much as look at me, I'll put crackers in your bed, pour out your beer..."

I couldn't keep quiet any longer. There are rules about hanging around your own front door, choking down the laughter. People talk. I eased the door open, the view matching my sensory guess pretty well. 

A neat trail of discarded clothing snaked from the doorway to the kitchen. Standing a few feet back from the balcony was Blair, stripped down to his boxers, sweating. The swish, shuffle and rip were sorting through the mail. According to my estimate, the thermostat and his temper were about dead even. Whatever set him off also had him totally distracted.

"Sandburg, you might at least wait until I was in the room before you chew me out."

Okay, that really wasn't fair. He jumped out of his skin. Mail scattered in all directions. So help me, I laughed out loud. If he'd been wearing his piece, I would have been taking cover.

"Damn you, Jim! Why should I wait, since you LISTEN anyway? Shit, I hate you."

"Sandburg, you mind telling me what has you so bent out of shape?

"I hate you. That's enough of a reason. Quit laughing." He turned his back to me.

I started to retrieve the envelopes. "Laughter is a good thing, Chief."

"So is justifiable homicide."

"Ooooh, hostile aren't we? What have we here? Bill, bill, credit card. Student loan? Sandburg, I told you to put that in writing and send it certified."

"Shut up. I called them. I shouldn't need a letter in blood."

"Of course you need a letter in blood. It's a bureaucracy." I keep sorting. "Catalog. Willy's Auto Repair. Is this what's got you going? You know, Sandburg, it's not my fault that sorry heap costs you more than it's worth." He just glares at me. Hot and bothered do not even cover the way he looks right now.

There's one more envelope. And now we know the rest of the story.

"Why, Sandburg, what is this? I do believe this is my tax rebate."

"I hate you. I'm hot and I hate you."

"Are we bitter? Jealous? You can't get a rebate if you don't pay first, Sandburg."

"I pay."

"It's proportional, Chief. I pay more, I get more."

"Hah. They just know I don't vote Republican."

I can't take it. The door's wide open and I can't walk through. I had plans for this moment. A million ways to tweak my roommate, discussing how I was going to spend my rebate, the funny money he wasn't going to get. 

A good gloat never hurt anyone, but he looks like a wounded puppy. 

"Would you really put crackers in my bed, Chief? You'd do that to me?"

He sags into a chair. The red chili pepper underwear make him look even hotter. "Why don't we have a fan? Why don't you take your ill-gotten gains and buy a fan? The gates of Hell have fans."

"No fans. This only happens once or twice a year."

"Will you get mad at me if I sit in front of the refrigerator with the door open?"

I try to look stern. "No, you cannot sit in front of the fridge. It will die."

"I hate your rebate and I hate you more." His head flops back, eyes closed. He could be presenting himself for execution.

I dump the mail. The man is miserable. "I'll get you some ice water." I make up two glasses with more ice than water. 

"Thanks. How poetic - ice water in Hell." He downs it, but one cool glass isn't enough. "I still hate you. You laughed at me. I'm not cooking dinner, either, you overindulged, tax-rebated puppet of the rich."

He's got a point. It's too hot to cook, and getting a student loan bill when your partner gets funny money from the Feds is a bit of an injustice. "Can you find some shorts, Chief? Maybe a shirt?"

"Why, you rat? You want me clothed when I die on the floor from heat stroke?"

"No. We're going out to eat. We're having dinner at Baskin-Robbins, and then we're going to the mall. It's air conditioned, and we have shopping to do. Think about it, Sandburg. Five kinds of ice cream sliding down your throat and I'm buying. Go."

He stalks off, red chili peppers and all, muttering under his breath. We'll get the ice cream, maybe go to a movie. The shopping? Maybe not today. That rebate's buying the biggest hot water heater we can find, but I'll wait until it's raining again to tell him.

The End


End file.
